


Lost In Shadow

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-14 18:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15395244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: When Éponine is the victim of a crime perpetrated by her father's enemies, who escape, she is taken into protective custody by Javert. Living as his maid, hidden away from the threat of violence by those determined to harm her, she reminds him of his rapscrabble past and he shows her what it means to embrace order. An odd symbiosis develops that neither saw coming. HIATUS





	1. Chapter 1

**March 1831**

" _I told my mother I would bring home lavender; I brought home you. Sailor boy, sailor boy. What did you do to me? I told my mother I would bring home lemons; I brought home you. Sailor boy, sailor boy. What did you do to me?"_

Javert stared at the bowl of beef stew on the table before him and swallowed hard. He knew this song. He came to this tavern for the songs. Marceline, the blonde-haired woman in her forties, sang songs from the South of France in this tavern.

The stew was for the dogs.

He forced down four or five bites as Marceline sang along to the accordion, and then he plunked down a few sous and rose. People went quiet at the sight of the inspector, imposing as a bear, rising from his chair and filling half the tavern with his body. He ignored them all and put his hat on his head as he went out into the street. He was about to begin a shift, and he always liked to begin a patrol shift on a full belly. Tonight was meant to be foggy, they were saying. Fog was rolling into the city. That would make for a hell of a night. It always did.

People hid in fog, using it like a cloak for all sorts of unsavoury activities. Javert braced himself against the chilly evening and made his way toward Saint-Michel. As he crossed the Pont au Double, he evaded a large pile of horse manure only to step in another one, and he growled in frustration as he paused to swipe it off of his boot bottom.

"Get back here!" yelled a voice, and Javert immediately looked up to see what the trouble was. But it was only two children, two boys chasing one another, and they were laughing. Javert was so on guard tonight that the slightest little provocation, the littlest jape was wont to send him reeling, and his heart thumped as the children pattered over the bridge into the fog.

Javert sighed and headed into the streets, into the alleys, shoving customers off of prostitutes with harsh warnings and barking at beggars to find some imaginary other place to spend the night. But then he heard a ruckus, a real  _something_ up ahead, and he frowned as he stared down an alley. He scowled and began to run. He thought of yelling, but that would only make criminals scatter, and there was only one of him. He needed a good look at faces.

"Get off of me!"  
"Éponine, if you and 'Parnasse had stayed out of the last -"

"Your father's going to -"

"This is going to be delicious. Mmmm… 'Ponine, you smell like summer, love."

"Get off me!"

"POLICE!" Javert finally yelled, nearing the cluster of four or five men gathered around one fighting woman. His baton felt heavy in his hand, but the second he raised it to swing it, the men disappeared like rats. He tried to follow them, but night was falling at the lamps didn't give enough light to see where they were going.

"Stop!" Javert cried, reaching for his whistle. "Police!"  
"It's all right!" panted the woman from behind him. "It's all right; you made them leave. That's what matters."

"Begging your pardon, mademoiselle, but that is  _not_ all that matters," Javert snapped, whirling around to see a young woman in rags leaning against the exterior wall of the building where the men had trapped her. He scowled at her in the lamplight and then growled,

"Éponine… Jondrette, is it? Your father and I know one another a bit too well at this point. Who were those men?"

"The Tappapieds," said Éponine simply. "A rival gang. Rivals of my fathers'. They wanted to teach him a lesson. Send him an example of what they'd do if he kept sniffing on their territory."

"By… doing what, exactly?" Javert asked, tipping his head, and Éponine looked at him like he was stupid. Her wide brown eyes glimmered, and she scoffed a laugh.

"By raping me," she told him. "And they'll do it, too. They'll get me, eventually. They've made their promise. They'll make good on it."

"Then you must be brought into protective custody," Javert insisted simply, feeling sick, and Éponine shook her head madly.

"I'm not going to jail, Inspector!"

"I did not say  _jail._  I said protective custody. As it happens, I am in dire need of a house maid. My own house maid quit last week. I can keep you in custody on behalf of the state in exchange for qualified housekeeping services."

"What is going on?" Éponine cried, stepping away from the building. She looked around the foggy alley and hissed, "I'm not going to come be your maid just to avoid getting raped by the Tappapieds! How do I know  _you_  won't do the same to me?"

Javert staggered backward, deeply offended. "Because I am a man of the law, and of justice, mademoiselle," he said simply. "Your life and welfare are under grave threat. I insist that you accept this offer. If you do not, the government's solution will be a protective jail cell for you, yes. It is not optional that I am aware of this threat and leave you on the street."

"I shouldn't have told you." Éponine touched at her forehead and huffed a sigh. She growled and stomped her bare foot on the ground in frustration. Javert cleared his throat gently and said,

"I mean no offense by this, mademoiselle, but I will have to insist that, upon taking you into protective custody, you wear a clean dress and shoes."

"Well, I haven't got those, Inspector," Éponine snapped, and Javert said patiently,

"The government will provide them for you, mademoiselle."

"Oh." Éponine seemed as though this deal was seeming more appealing by the minute, and she pursed her lips. She looked to her left, to where the Tappapieds had run off, and she shivered visibly as she seemed to remember what had happened to her. What had almost happened to her. She turned her face to Javert and asked him,

"Protective custody, then? When do we begin, Inspector?"

* * *

"May I enter?"

"Erm… one moment, please!" Éponine had taken too long in her bath, but it had been so long since she'd bathed that she had savoured it. She'd gone for the water herself and had heated it herself and had done all the work herself, for she was to be a house maid for this inspector, but she didn't mind one bit. She didn't mind lugging hot water if she got to use it with castile soap for washing. She had braided her clean hair and had put on the simple white nightgown that the government had provided. She pulled on the dark green cotton dressing-gown that had been provided and opened the door to her small, simple bedroom to see Inspector Javert standing there in his own dressing gown, holding a candle in a brass handler.

"I am ready for you to come warm my bed now," he said simply, and Éponine nodded frantically.

"Yes, monsieur." She dashed down the corridor of his modest two-bedroom home and into his bedroom, and she took the bed warmer from the hook beside the fireplace. She shoveled some coals into the warmer and stood, and then suddenly the coals flew out of the warmer, flying all over the floor. Éponine screamed and reached for one, burning her hand, and then she scampered back as she worried the floor would catch fire.

But the inspector was calmly shoveling the coals back into the fireplace, and he hung the warmer back up beside the fireplace as he walked to his wash basin and wet a rag. He approached Éponine and murmured,

"You've not done much housekeeping, have you? You have to latch shut the bed warmer."

"I've never used a bed warmer. I'm sorry," Éponine whispered, and Javert smirked a little at her. He shrugged.

"How could I expect a girl from abject poverty to know anything about proper housekeeping?"

"What do you know about poverty?" she grumbled, snatching the wet rag from him. His eyes darkened, and he glanced away as he said quietly,

"More than you do."

She thought that was odd, and she thought it was odd that he helped her up off the floor and said quietly,

"Go to bed. We'll discuss your tasks in the morning."

"I'm sorry, Inspector," Éponine said seriously, holding the cloth to her stinging hand. He just shook his head and said in a low voice that left precisely no room for argument,

"Goodnight, Éponine. And do remember that your presence here is not optional."

He shut the door to his room, leaving Éponine stumbling back to her own little bedroom. She lay in her own bed - her  _own bed_  - and stared at the ceiling, shocked by how warm and comfortable she was here. She slept like the dead, and when she woke in the morning, it was already sunny outside.


	2. Chapter 2

"Monsieur le Commissaire, I have prepared the file on Mademoiselle Éponine Jondrette," said Javert, bowing crisply as he approached his superior officer's desk. The Commissaire took the folder Javert handed over and uncoiled its tie. He opened it as Javert tightly knitted his fingers behind his back. The Commissaire sniffed lightly and asked,

"We have information about these Tappapieds? The gang?"

"Yes, Monsieur," Javert said. "We track them, along with other street gangs. Mademoiselle Jondrette - I confess that I suspect she had another name earlier in life - she gave us four specific names of Tappapieds members. The ones who threatened to rape her. She says they would not stop until they succeeded in doing so."

"And you believe you walked in on the crime the moment before it occurred?" The Commissaire raised his pale eyes, and Javert gulped as he said dryly,

"If I had arrived two minutes later, I think Éponine Jondrette would have already been raped. Monsieur le Commissaire."

"Her father is a criminal," said the Commissaire. "She will be targeted again."

"She is seventeen, almost eighteen," Javert pointed out. "I hope for her sake that with a little rehabilitation, she might be able to escape the cycle of iniquity that her father's criminality has sucked her into."

"You are thinking of your own life, Javert." The Commissaire's eye twinkled a little, and Javert shifted on his feet. His superior officer knew no details of his youth, only that he'd come from humble origins. The Commissaire did not know that Javert had been born in a prison to two criminal parents, that he'd needed the generosity of the government to get him on his feet as a boy and begin an honest life. Yes, he was thinking of his own past as he contemplated what might be possible for Éponine. He cleared his throat and said gruffly to the Commissaire,

"I think she might be neither raped nor lost to a life of crime, Monsieur le Commissaire, and I should hope that the police force might see some good in an outcome that involves neither for her."

"Benevolence, Javert." The Commissaire closed the folder and nodded. "She has clothes and you'll be given a food allowance for her until she can be transferred to a women's facility."

"Those places are little more than prisons," Javert protested, "and are meant for fallen women and their babies. She is not -"

"You do not wish for a transfer for her, then?" the Commissaire asked boredly, and Javert shook his head and shrugged.

"She may stay on as my maid until the threat of the Tappapieds is gone from her, or until she finds some pauper in another part of the city to marry her. Make a new life for herself. She may stay under my supervision until then, Monsieur, if you allow it. She is not a difficult house guest."

"And is she a good maid?" The Commissaire seemed almost suspicious, and Javert swallowed hard as he shifted where he stood. He finally admitted,

"She will be. With training."

"Well. Train her to sweep cinders and wash windows, then, and she'll be your ward so long as you bear the burden, Javert." The Commissaire opened a locked box on his desk and counted out some notes - too many notes, Javert thought. He handed them over and said, "Her stipend, as a ward of the Government. Use it wisely."

"I shall return all unused funds, Monsieur le Commissaire," Javert promised, tucking the notes away. "I am a frugal man."

The Commissaire smirked. "You're right. She's better off with you. Dismissed."

* * *

"That dress is too large," said Inspector Javert.

Éponine looked up from the warm bacon and bread that he'd brought to the house from a tavern wrapped in paper, and her mouth fell open.

"Erm… this is the only dress they gave me, Inspector," she said quietly. She chewed another bite of bread and self-consciously pulled at the way her burgundy wool dress was falling off a shoulder. Javert huffed and shook his head.

"Well, that's foolish. You can't wear that. Can you sew?"  
"Yes, Inspector. I'll take it in at once," Éponine promised. "I'm sorry."

He sighed and shook his head a little, and he pulled out some notes from his pocket. He stared at them and seemed to be doing some arithmetic in his head. He stuffed the notes away and said,

"Finish eating. We're going to get you something better to wear. If that's the best they can send over, they can fund a different outfit."

Éponine was surprised by that, but she hurried up to finish her warm bread and bacon. It tasted so, so good, so much better than the maggoty excuses for food she'd scraped by with in Saint-Michel. She drank the mulled red wine that the two of them had been sipping, and then she rushed to clear the paper away to the rubbish bin and to wash out their wine glasses in the kitchen basin. She brushed the crumbs off the table in front of Javert and straightened the chairs, yanking at her too-big dress all the while. She kept tripping on its long hem, and he finally asked her,

"Do the shoes fit?"

"The boots are… big," Éponine admitted with a little smile. "It's all right. You're not from here. Your accent… it's from the South of France. Where are you from, Inspector?"

"Toulon," he said simply, and she frowned a little as she demanded,

"Why did you come to Paris?"

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head a little. "Why does anyone come to Paris?"

"Point taken." Éponine curled up half her mouth and put on her cloak as she walked with him out the door of the little house and out into the street. He looked so stout and grand in his uniform, she thought. Not for the first time, it occurred to her that he was exceedingly handsome. Old, she thought. Very old. He must be at least fifty. But he was so handsome, and she couldn't help but think it to be true. He escorted her with extreme confidence, as though he owned the street upon which they walked. Éponine plodded behind him in her too-big shoes and her too-big dress and cloak, and when they arrived at a dressmaker's, he held the door for her, which shocked her. She scurried inside, and Javert nodded to the women who were working.

"Mesdames," he said, for they were all women in their forties or older, "I have a ward of the state in need of properly-fitting clothes. Sturdy, suitable clothing - nothing fancy, nothing that will fall apart."

"Yes, Inspector," said one woman, seeming terrified of Javert. She grabbed at Éponine and brought her back behind some curtains. Éponine was quickly divested of her ill-fitting garments, and the women hustled to get her into cotton undergarments and a set of utilitarian cotton drill stays she could do up herself. The restriction of the proper undergarments felt rather like hell after years of the freedom of wearing rags in Saint-Michel, but Éponine remembered as recently as when she'd been eleven or twelve that her parents had been able to afford stays and cotton dresses for her. Then things had gone very sour, very quickly.

The women worked quickly get three calico dresses onto Éponine, trying them on for size and shape over two petticoats. They helped her slip into some black button-up boots that fit, and one woman called to Javert,

"A bonnet or hat, Inspector?"

"Sturdy and serviceable," he called back tightly. The women giggled a little, and Éponine just stared at herself in the long, tarnished mirror as they arranged a black velvet bonnet upon her head. She had on a dark green calico dress now, with black boots and a black bonnet, and they slid simple black leather gloves onto her hands. The women tied a black wool cape around Éponine and then shooed her out from the curtains and presented her to Javert as if she were some sort of gift. He looked very surprised when he saw her dressed in real clothes like that, and she saw his throat bob just a little bit. He glanced away and mumbled,

"That will do fine. The total?"

"For the government? Four francs," said the eldest woman kindly. Javert must know she was undercutting the price severely, but he did not argue. He just handed over a few notes and murmured,

"Thank you, Mesdames. Come, Mademoiselle." He jerked his head, and when they stepped outside, he put his hat back on. He walked very deliberately back toward his house, and Éponine hurried to keep up.

"Thank you, Inspector," she said breathlessly, and he huffed,

"You needed clothes that fit."

"Still. Thank you."

"Think nothing of it," he insisted. Then he turned a little, stopping his feet, and Éponine skittered on the slippery stones. She stared up at him, suddenly wondering if Marius cared that she was a ward of the state now, and she studied the inspector's face. Marius seemed very far away all of a sudden.

"Begin a new life," Inspector Javert instructed Éponine. When she looked confused, he sank his teeth into his lip and insisted, "Your old life would have led you nowhere good, and I think you know that. You must see this as an opportunity. That is why I came to Paris, mademoiselle. Opportunity. All my life, I have been presented with poverty and challenges, and then with opportunities. And I have seized every single one that I could. I advise you to do the same. Understood?"

Éponine's eyes watered a little, but she nodded and whispered, "Understood, Inspector."

Then she followed him up the road toward the house.


	3. Chapter 3

Javert flew out of his bed at the sound of the scream.

He immediately reached for the dagger beside his bed, wondering if somehow the Tappapieds had found his house. He didn't even put on a dressing gown before flying out of his room and looking left and right in the dark corridor. He heard another scream from Éponine's closed bedroom, and he rushed down there. He threw the door open to find that her fire had gown out and it was mostly dark in the room.

"Éponine!" Javert barked, using her given name for a reason he still didn't know hours later. She sat bolt upright in bed, and he realised at once what had happened.

She'd been dreaming.

He sighed and walked over to her desk, turning up the wick on the kerosene lantern that was sitting there. More light came over the room, and Javert stared at Éponine in the flickering orange light.

"A nightmare?" he asked simply, and she looked terribly embarrassed as she nodded. She dragged her fingers over her braided hair and whispered,

"They were… taking me… against that wall."

"Well, they're not here," Javert assured her, leaning against the desk. "You are safe in this home. That's why you are here. You are here to ensure your safety… and so that you might use the opportunity to make a better life for yourself."

"I think you added that last bit yourself, Inspector," Éponine smiled, and Javert smirked a little at her. He shrugged.

"The Tappapieds will not harm you here. I promise you safety in this house."

"You'll keep me safe?" Éponine asked quietly, and it was then that Javert noticed the way her chest rose and fell quickly beneath her simple white nightgown. She was so small, he thought. So young and small and vulnerable. He nodded and whispered, "Yes. I'll keep you safe. Éponine."

"I am very sorry for waking you, Inspector Javert," Éponine mumbled, but he shook his head and lowered the wick on the lantern again. He walked over to her fire and poked at it, blowing a little until the flames kicked up a bit, and she seemed very grateful as he made his way toward the door. He realised how revealed he was standing there in nothing but his nightshirt, holding a dagger, but he just gave her a crisp nod and murmured,

"Get some good rest."

"Goodnight, Monsieur," said Éponine. "I wish I knew your given name."

Javert scowled at the door and paused. Did he tell her? He cleared his throat and shook his head, turning round to stare at where she sat upright in the bed. He said plainly,

"I've got no given name. You asked what I knew of poverty. Much. I know enough of poverty that I was given no name at my birth. Javert is my only name. There is no other."

"Oh." Éponine's lips parted, and she looked a little bit pretty then as she stared him up and down, almost appraising him. She seemed less innocent all of a sudden, as though the realisation that he came from just as rough a background as her had made her open up a little inside. She stared at him with eyes that burned like fire all of a sudden, and there was a strange moment of quiet. Javert swallowed and encountered a bizarre lump in his throat when he did.

"Éponine," he said softly, "I am sorry that you had the nightmare you did. Those attackers will not get you here."

"No," she whispered. "I am very safe here. I can tell it. Thank you, Inspector… Javert. From Toulon."

He turned to go then, feeling that it was wrong for him to stay even a moment longer, and he quickly shut her door and walked back toward his bedroom, the dagger in his hand.

* * *

"You went out on your own," Javert nodded, and Éponine noticed he did not sound happy about that fact.

"I wanted to have dinner ready for you, since you were sleeping during the day and working a night shift, Inspector," she told him, feeling a little confused. He glared at her as he finished buttoning up his uniform jacket.

"No. You're not to fetch food or supplies. It may feel like imprisonment, but the terms of your protective custody dictate that you leave this house only under my escort. I can not keep you safe if you leave this house alone."

"I'm sorry." Éponine realised he was right. Someone could see her and go tattling that she was here - at best - or physically attack her at worst. She sighed and gestured to the plates she'd set at the dinner table. "I won't go out again, Inspector. In the meantime, I got some roast chicken and potatoes for you for dinner."

"Where's your chicken?" he asked, and Éponine's mouth froze as she shook her head, standing near the wall.

"I ate some bread," she insisted. "It was expensive food; I didn't want to spend the money on two servings."

Javert scowled as he sat and cut into his roast chicken thigh. He paused with the bite halfway to his mouth. It smelled so good. Éponine tried to ignore the rumble in her stomach. She was fine with bread; she'd been fine with far less for a very long time.

"Go get a plate," Javert said firmly, and before Éponine could open her mouth to protest, he ordered her again, "Get a plate, Éponine."

She sighed and went into the tiny kitchen, fetching a small blue and white china plate and a fork. She walked over to Javert, who began cutting up some chicken and serving it onto her plate.

"That's more than enough!" she cried, after he'd put three or four bites' worth there. He rolled his eyes and put a few potatoes on her plate from his, and Éponine smiled down at him a little. He pulled out the chair beside him at the four-top table, and Éponine sank down into the chair. She gulped and stared at the food, and she told him,

"We ate like this, once upon a time. Well, not quite like this; my parents' inn served swill and cheap stew. But we ate real food, once upon a time."

"They owned an inn?" Javert asked, and Éponine nodded as she ate some of the chicken. It was warm and smooth in her mouth, and she struggled not to make noise. She told Javert,

"The inn went under, and we moved to Paris, but nothing came to shape. We were rat fodder before we knew it. I had pretty dresses when I was a little girl. Pretty dolls. I was pampered like a precious little creature."

"Interesting." Javert raised his eyebrows and popped a potato into his mouth. He informed her, "My own beginnings were… as humble as one's beginnings might be. I had to make my own way from a very young age. I have confidence, Éponine, that you will find a life that spares you your father's choices."

"You are very invested in my salvation, Inspector," Éponine noted, and he admitted quietly,

"I see a little of myself in you, perhaps. I do not wish for opportunities to slip through your fingers like sand, no. I am off to Saint-Michel on patrol tonight. If I see your parents, I shall assure them of your safety."

Éponine choked a scoff. "They won't care."

"Won't they?" Javert asked, but Éponine insisted,

"Not in the slightest. But if you pass by Gorbeau House, and he's there, will you tell a boy called Marius Pontmercy that I'm safe?"

"Marius Pontmercy," Javert repeated. "Who is he?"

"He is…" Éponine paused, staring down at the remains of her food for a very long moment. What was Marius to her? Everything, it had seemed once upon a time. But what had she been to him? Nothing. Ever. "He is…"

"I think I understand," Javert said awkwardly, but Éponine shook her head and whispered,

"He wouldn't care, either, actually."

Javert put down his fork and knife and rose, picking up his own plate and Éponine's empty one. Éponine gasped in protest and whirled up onto her feet as he approached the kitchen with the plates.

"That's my job, Inspector," she insisted, and he shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"Honestly. My old house-maid only came once a week to clean. I've been doing my own chores for years. And I have spent nearly my entire existence without domestic assistance. It actually makes me the slightest bit uncomfortable to have it in the first place, but it's part of the terms under which the government will allow you to stay here for your supervised protection, so…"

"Why do you care?" Éponine snarled all of a sudden, feeling very confused. Javert paused where he was scraping the food off the dishes, and he cleared his throat, looking mildly confused and embarrassed.

"I did not want you sent to a home for women of ill repute. It would be more difficult to start anew from there."

"Start anew," Éponine repeated. "Why do you care whether I am lost in shadow or start anew, Inspector Javert? Why?"

"Because you seem like a sufficiently powerful soul to actually make the decision to live properly!" Javert cried, slamming the dishes down into the wash basin. The water splashed onto his sleeve a little, but he didn't seem to mind. "Because you seem strong enough, Éponine, and not everyone is."

"You speak from experience," she nodded, her eyes burning, and he scoffed quietly and shrugged.

"I do speak from some experience in this matter, yes. I was born in a prison to a gypsy fortune-teller, the whore or wife - I'll never really know which - of a galley-slave. I was turned out onto the streets of Toulon with a few coins and a set of clothes when she died. I made my own way. I fought Napoleon's wars. I chose the law. I chose the light. I chose  _right_ , and I have climbed and climbed ever since, Éponine. You need not spend the rest of your existence as a rag-clothed criminal's daughter being attacked in alleyways."

She was crying now, really crying, but Javert just quickly moved over toward the doorway and put on his heavy coat, for it was frigid outside, and his top hat. He gave Éponine one more look and said tightly,

"You are to stay in this house for your own safety and because those are the terms of your protective custody as agreed to by the Paris Police. Do you understand, Mademoiselle Jondrette?"

"Thénardier," she corrected him, and he just stared at the door knob for a long moment. He finally murmured,

"I shall notify your parents of your safety, as well as Monsieur Pontmercy. Goodnight. Get some good rest."

He was gone before Éponine could answer him,

"Goodnight, Inspector."


	4. Chapter 4

She was right, as it happened. Her own mother didn't care a lick about the fact that Éponine had nearly been raped. She only cared that, since Éponine was in protective custody, she had one fewer mouth to feed. And Monsieur Jondrette, the consummate criminal, had refused to even see Javert, afraid he was there to arrest him.

Javert had gone next door to where Monsieur Marius Pontmercy was said to live, and he knocked on the young man's door. When the door opened, a surprisingly well-dressed student type opened the door, and Marius frowned as he asked,

"May I help you, Inspector?"  
"I come with a message from a mademoiselle called Éponine," said Javert carefully, and Marius looked mildly interested. He'd been in the middle of tying a cravat when Javert had arrived, and he continued at it as he asked,

"Is 'Ponine all right? Got herself into some fresh trouble, did she?"

"She wants you to know…" Javert hesitated and then glanced next door to the hovel where Éponine's parents lived. He sighed and said to Marius, "She wanted you to know that she was in trouble, but she is being kept safe. She is not in jail."

"Oh. All right. Well, tell her I said hullo, if you should see her." Marius flashed a little smile to Javert and said, "I hope she's warm and fed, wherever she is."

"She is," Javert confirmed. "She is safe. She wanted you to know that she is safe. She thought you might care."

"Well, of course I care, Inspector," said Marius, almost cheekily. "I'm glad to hear 'Ponine is doing better wherever she is than she does here. Will you see her to tell her hullo for me?"

"I…" Javert did not wish to divulge enough about Éponine's location to reveal whether or not he'd see her. He gulped and just shook his head a little, not wanting to lie, and he just told Marius, "I shall try to see that your greeting is passed along."

* * *

At the end of his shift, Javert went back to the station to write up a one-page report noting that he had gone to see the family of his charge. He sat at a desk writing when another inspector, Lemieux, walked up and loomed over him.

"Javert," said the mustachioed Lemieux playfully, "I hear you've got a pretty young thing in your house."

"I've got a crime victim in protective custody," Javert sniffed, writing a few more words.

"My wife would lose her mind if I brought a seventeen-year-old girl home and called it work," Lemieux laughed.

"Yes, well, I haven't got any wife," Javert reminded Lemieux, "and, anyway, this particular crime victim was in need of sincere and honest shelter."

"You are a good man of the law, Javert," said Lemieux, grinning like a fool. "Far better than the rest of us."

"I only serve what is right," Javert insisted, "and I will do my duty."

"I'm sure she sleeps soundly." Lemieux was more serious now, and he said carefully, "I did not mean to goad or tease. I know well that you are a decent man."

"Thank you, Lemieux. Go get some sleep," said Javert, and Lemieux laughed.

" _You_  go get some sleep," he said. "I'm just coming in for a morning shift."

Then he walked away from Javert's desk.

* * *

"Olives? Real olives?" Éponine seemed utterly shocked by the food that Javert had brought home, including marinated olives. Javert smirked a little as she ate one and set the pit down, but then he had to pause, for she made a rather beautiful face and an even more beautiful noise when she chewed the olive and swallowed it.

"I saw your mother," Javert informed Éponine, "and Monsieur Pontmercy. I informed them of your safety. This morning, just an hour or so ago."

Éponine gave him an expectant look as she took another olive, and she asked carefully, "Did they… what did they say, Inspector?"

"Not very much," he conceded, and though Éponine looked mildly wounded, she did not seem surprised one bit. She ate the second olive and insisted,

"You must get to bed at once, Inspector Javert. You must be terribly tired."

"Are you my maid, or my nanny?" he laughed, and she smiled a little as her earlier sadness dissipated a bit. She pulled out a chair for him and said,

"Eat, Inspector, and let me take off and clean your boots."

"Éponine," he protested, but he sank into the chair just the same. He took a few bites of ham and bread and a few olives, and then Éponine sank down onto the ground before him. She pulled off his boots one at a time, which felt so wondrously freeing that Javert actually groaned a little. When she walked away and went at them by the door with a brush, Javert watched her as he kept eating. He drank some red wine and chewed at an olive as she stood, and he decided that her dark green dress was his favourite. She had a mustard yellow one and a coral-coloured one, too, but he liked the dark green on her best.

Why, he wondered, was he thinking about what dresses he preferred upon her?

"Let me go warm your bed, Inspector," she said. "I can do it now without setting the house afire."

He curled up half his mouth at that and let her go, shutting his eyes for a moment at the thought of her warming up his sheets with the pan. He cleared his food and swigged down the rest of his wine, and then he went into his bedroom as Éponine moved the warmer constantly and slowly around the bed to avoid scorching his sheets.

He began to unbutton his uniform jacket where he stood, and he saw Éponine glance up from her work as if to marvel at him doing it. She finished warming the bed as he hung up his uniform jacket, and then he set to work on his cravat and his shirt sleeves. She went into his wardrobe and fetched his nightshirt for him, and when she brought it over, he took it from her hand, both of them hesitating for a moment as she handed it over. He stared down at her, thinking she was awfully pretty, and he whispered,

"Thank you."

"May I eat a few more olives, Inspector?" she asked quietly, and he quirked a little smile at her as he nodded and said,

"You may have all the rest of the olives, Éponine. Every last one."

She just stared then, her chestnut eyes boring into his. She wore her dark hair braided over one shoulder, not at all anything resembling the styles of fashionable ladies. She was not a fashionable lady. Javert did not find beauty, though, in the primped-up women walking the streets of Paris. He did find it before him in the fresh-faced girl with the wide brown eyes and the full lips and the…

_Stop it, Javert!_  He took the night shirt and gulped hard, averting his eyes, and he murmured,

"Why don't you go eat them now?"

"They didn't care, then?" Éponine asked, and he knew she meant her mother and Marius Pontmercy.

"Monsieur Pontmercy insisted that he did care," Javert confessed, "and he said to tell you, 'hullo.'"

" _Hullo._  That is rather like he says it," Éponine smiled, and her eyes went a little misty. "D'you know, Inspector, I think sometimes that I'm in love with him."

"Are you?" he asked blandly, and he tried to understand why. The boy seemed distant, distracted. He was a student, or some moneyed sort, living in what appeared to be deliberate poverty. What was there to love? And, most bizarrely, the thought of Éponine being in love with that boy made Javert's stomach twist strangely, unpleasantly. He gulped and said,

"He was aloof, that boy."

"Aloof. Yes." Éponine nodded and looked away. "He never looked at me when he didn't have to."

"Your mother was less charitable, I must say," Javert said, and Éponine shrugged.

"One less mouth to feed for her."

"That's precisely what she said," Javert mumbled, staring at his nightshirt in his hands. He raised his eyes to Éponine and insisted, not even remotely for the first time, "Take this opportunity to make a new life for yourself, Éponine. Even when the threat of the Tappapieds has passed, your future is not in Gorbeau House. Surely you can see that. Your future is something greater than Gorbeau House, isn't it?"

"Could it be? I'm not certain." She looked sorrowful then, and she said, "I once had pretty dresses and pretty dolls, Inspector. Now look at me."

"Yes. Look at you. Standing before me in real clothes, in a real house, with olives waiting for you in the kitchen," said Javert almost harshly. Éponine seemed to have a little revelation then, and she smiled rather broadly as she nodded.

"Real clothes," she agreed, "with olives waiting in the kitchen. And for all that, I must give you my thanks, Inspector Javert. Please, forgive me…"

He was about to ask her what he was forgiving her for, but she stretched up onto her tip toes and reached for Javert's face, and she pulled him down just a little bit. She kissed the skin just beside his mouth, the part of his cheek near his lips, and she rubbed her fingers at his jaw. When she pulled back, he wanted more, which frightened him, but he just nodded at her.

Then she scurried away, red-faced, off to eat her olives, leaving Javert standing there breathless and shaking.


	5. Chapter 5

Éponine lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, remembering the blistering feeling she'd had after kissing Javert's cheek. That had been two days earlier. He'd been awkward and distant since then, though it was hardly as though Éponine could blame him for that.

She had decided over the last few days that Inspector Javert was the most handsome man in all of Paris. He was old, she thought, and stubborn and single-mindedly focused on the law and righteousness. But he exuded allure, somehow, in a way that Éponine wouldn't have been able to explain. At meals, she'd felt dizzy and weak sitting beside him. Warming his bed, she'd smelled his distinct aroma in his bedroom and had been almost taken over by it. She gulped now as she lay in her bed and pulled at the hem of her nightdress beneath her blankets.

She touched the pads of her fingers between her legs and shut her eyes, feeling dampness and spreading her legs just a little bit. She thought of him, of Inspector Javert, and she flushed more wet than ever. She imagined his face, his broad chest in his uniform jacket. Suddenly Marius seemed a world away and not very appealing anymore. Suddenly Éponine's head was filled with dinners spent at the little kitchen table, eating bread and bacon with the inspector, talking with him about his work, talking with him about the weather, and there were nights like this. Nights in her quiet, still bedroom with its whitewashed walls and its simple metal-framed bed, its cosy quilts, its little fireplace.

Éponine pushed her fingers back and forth a few times and mewled softly, unable to keep silent. She pulsed her fingers there against her nub, thinking of him, thinking of this life, of the time they spent together, of his shoulders and his jaw and his nose and his chin. She thought of his eyes, dark and piercing, of his deep, booming voice. It was so much, too much, and suddenly Éponine snapped like a wire.

She cried out, arching her back up and not realising how loud she'd been. She couldn't help herself. It felt good. It felt so good, the way her body was responding to the thoughts of him. It felt like Heaven, the way her body was shaking and clenching around her fingers in response to the idea of him.

"Éponine?"

She gasped and turned her face to her door as it opened, and Javert stood in the doorway holding a candle, looking concerned. He eyed her carefully and asked,

"Another nightmare?"

"Erm…" Éponine had always been a very good liar, but suddenly she found herself unable to formulate the words of a lie. She couldn't figure out how to explain what had happened. Somehow he seemed to understand, for a strange flash came over his eyes as Éponine sat up slowly. She stared right at him and said quietly,

"I'm fine. I'm so sorry I woke you, Inspector."

"It's no trouble. Goodnight." His cheeks had darkened visibly in the candlelight, and he was blinking quickly where he stood. He turned and started to go, but Éponine flew from her bed and whispered,

"Wait. Please."

"Éponine." He shook his head, facing away from her, and he insisted, "I apologise for… I thought you were having a nightmare. I thought I could help. I was being a fool."

"No. You were…" She reached for his shoulder, encouraging him to turn round, and when he slowly did, he stared down at her with wide, searching eyes and parted lips. Éponine whispered gently again, "I am so sorry for waking you. Inspector."

"You were thinking of that boy, Marius," Javert said, very firmly, his voice harsh and almost cruel. His face hardened, as if he'd already made up his mind, but Éponine shook her head and insisted,

"No. Of you."

His throat bobbed, and he murmured,

"Goodnight, Éponine."

"One kiss," she beseeched him, for she'd stolen one from him and she badly wanted another, a real one, one he gave her freely. She stared up at him and he stared down at her, until finally he set his candle down on the little table beside Éponine's bed and cleared his throat clinically. He took Éponine's face in his hands and stared some more, just studying her for a very long moment. His hands were rough, like they'd been calloused through years of holding reins and batons. He dragged his thumbs beneath her eyes, and he told her,

"Make me a promise."

"All right." Her brows knitted together, and Éponine put her hands to his broad, hard chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his nightshirt. He told her,

"Promise me you will use this opportunity to make a new life for yourself. That you won't go back to that old way. Promise me that, and I will kiss you."

Éponine felt her eyes well. Did she ever want to go home? No. Not really. She would be just fine if she never saw her parents again. Marius cared nothing for her, not really. And she cared less for him with every passing day. And she hardly missed being filthy and cold and hungry. She nodded and vowed to Javert,

"I swear it, Inspector. I shall start anew, as you say. I shall keep my new clothes and get a position as a maid somewhere, or -"

He cut off her words then by lowering his mouth to hers, and Éponine squealed a little in surprise. She moved her hands immediately from his chest to his cheeks on instinct, and then they stood there, him towering over her, holding her face, her holding his, and their mouths were locked together. Éponine opened her lips a little, and his tongue snaked in a bit. He licked at her lip and then dragged his tongue over the roof of her mouth, and Éponine moaned softly against his lips.

"Inspector," she whispered in wonder as he pulled away, and she felt something firm pressing insistently against her abdomen. He shut his eyes and murmured far more insistently this time,

"Goodnight, Éponine."

This time, she let him go.

* * *

"Are you angry with me?" Éponine asked at breakfast the next morning. Javert looked up from his porridge and shook his head.

"No. It was my fault. I am the one who lost control."

"Control." Éponine's chest crumpled at that, but she gulped and nodded.

"I am far older than you, and ought to know better," he said, spooning more porridge into his mouth.

"How much older?" Éponine blurted, and he gave her a strange look.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I am seventeen. I'll be eighteen in the autumn," said Éponine. "How much older are you? Inspector?"

"That is precisely none of your business," he barked, and he stood with his bowl of half-eaten porridge. Éponine huffed; she'd angered him. That was the last thing she wanted today. She chewed her lip and said angrily,

"I'm sorry. I have learnt much about your youth, your military service, your work in the police. I know enough to do some rough arithmetic. I would guess you're between forty-nine and fifty-six years of age, but I -"

"I am fifty-two," snapped Javert, working in the kitchen with his dishes, "though, again, it is precisely none of your business."

"I'm sorry for my curiosity, then," Éponine said softly. She stared at him. He was already in his uniform, ready to leave for a day of work. He didn't need his outer coat today, but he started to slide on his boots. They were still relatively muddy from the day before, and so Éponine rushed over with a brush and knelt before him. She started to scrub at his boots, loosening dirt and then brushing the clumps into a dustbin and putting them into the special dirt bin by the door. She stared up from where she knelt, and Javert was giving her a very strange look. He held out a hand, and Éponine put her fingers into her palm. When she rose, he informed her,

"I like this dress best on you. This green one. It looks very nice with your dark hair."

"Oh." Éponine's eyes seared all of a sudden. She nodded. "Thank you, Inspector."

He bent and swiftly planted a few kissed on her cheeks and then on her lips. He hesitated, and then he gave her a deeper kiss, one where his hand went to the back of her neck and caressed gently along with his lips. He released her, staring down at her, and huffed out a breath as Éponine reached for his top hat and handed it over. She was breathless then as he left the house, as she cleared her own porridge and set to her chores for the day.

Yes, she thought. She would use this opportunity to begin anew. She could never go back again.

**Author's Note: I can see that people are actually reading this story, which is awesome. If you are reading and enjoying the story, would you please take a moment to leave a quick review? Thank you so much.**


	6. Chapter 6

"Stop! Police!" Javert dashed down the cobblestones, feeling older than he'd ever felt in his life as he chased the man who had been breaking into a home when Javert had walked up in the grey first light of morning. Javert ran and ran, chasing the man until he finally caught him on the rue Jacob. He tackled the man and managed to put heavy iron cuffs on him, to drag him to the nearest police station, and to fill out extensive paperwork whilst other officers put the man into a holding cell until the morning.

By the time Javert made it home, he was exhausted and still rather breathless, drenched in sweat and feeling disgusting. He stripped off his uniform and made a note to get it laundered and wear his spare for the next few days. He scrubbed himself with water in his wash basin in his room and put on his night shirt, and he collapsed into his bed.

Ten minutes later, he was almost lost to sleep when he heard the door to his bedroom creak open. He blinked his eyes and mumbled,

"Whassamatter?"

"It's only me, Inspector," said Éponine carefully. "I was worried; you were due back hours ago. Is everything all right?"

He rolled and faced her, and then he sat up slowly and beckoned her into the bedroom. It was a warm night, so he hadn't built up a fire, and he was using his lighter blankets. He turned up the wick on the lantern beside him, not wanting the bright light from open curtains. Éponine came over near his bed, still wearing her own nightgown, and she flashed him a shy litle smile. Javert told her seriously,

"A man was breaking into a house, and I had to catch him in a foot chase."

"Oh. That sounds exciting," Éponine observed, and Javert scowled. He shook his head.

"You've broken into houses," he said, his voice accusatory, and her cheeks reddened. She paused a moment and then said gravely,

"I never wanted to be a criminal."

"And you'll never be one again," Javert vowed on her behalf, his voice hoarse from so much shouting and running. He reached for her hand, and she seemed surprised when he took her fingers and squeezed them. She slid up onto the bed, sitting near his knees, and he found himself wanting her badly all of a sudden. She was pretty, he thought, with her dark hair in a braid over one shoulder, her face washed. She had not been very pretty when he'd first found her up against a wall. She'd been dirty and gaunt. Now she looked clean and pretty. Fresh. Like she was starting over.

She could not do it alone, he knew. She would need someone to start over  _with_.

"We will find you a fine man to marry," he said, and Éponine smirked a bit at him. He realised he was still holding her hand, and she nodded a little as she whispered,

"All right, Inspector."

"A fine young man with a very bright future," Javert said, and then his throat went tight at the thought of Éponine with someone else. She would be held by him, by that someone else. She would be kissed by him. Javert blinked a few times and let go of her hand, and he reached for her braid. His fingers dragged over her hair, and he asked her,

"Would you like some green ribbon?"

"Green ribbon?" she repeated, confused and quiet, and he clarified,

"For your hair? It looks… so fine with green…"

"Will you take me to the shop?" Éponine asked softly, and Javert nodded, meeting her eyes.

"I'll have to use my own funds," he said. "It would be misuse of the government's money to spend it on superfluous hair ribbons. Consider it a gift from your… supervisor."

"My supervisor." Éponine covered his hand with hers on her braid, and then she just stared at him for what felt like a very, very long time. She leaned and pressed her lips to his, and Javert whispered against her mouth,

"I will not defile you."

"No. Of course not, Inspector," Éponine smiled. "You're not like Dubois."

"Who is Dubois?" Javert pulled Éponine back a little, and she shook her head very firmly, wrenching her eyes shut as she sat up.

"Sorry. Forget I said anything."

"What?" Javert's heart sank along with his stomach, and he reached for Éponine's wrist as she started to slide off the bed. Éponine whirled back with eyes full of tears and shrugged.

"He was a man in my father's inn when I was younger. He used to touch me. He never… you know, put anything inside of me. I've never been with a man in that way. I am pure."

"Pure!" Javert scoffed loudly. "That is hardly the concern in this situation. First this Dubois man as a child, then the Tappapieds up against a wall? Does your father have no concern for what his dubious so-called 'work' means for his daughter?"

"No. He does not." Éponine huffed a breath and pulled her hand from Javert's. "When I was a little girl and I told him about Dubois, he replied that Dubois was his friend and a good paying customer and therefore I must be a lying, sour little creature. My mother beat me for days about it. They never treat me well again after that, after I accused Dubois. Things were different. Before that, I was their precious little treasure. Afterward, I was a burden and they despised me."

"Éponine." Javert shut his eyes and felt sick. He remembered finding Éponine in the fog with the Tappapieds crowded around her, threatening to rape her, saying they would harm her no matter what. He had to keep her safe. He had to protect her. He opened his eyes and told her, "You need to stay here."

"That's the plan, isn't it?" Éponine shrugged, hugging herself and curling back against herself. She shook her head a little and said, "Isn't it the government's plan to keep me here until the threat of the Tappapieds has passed?"

"We've been chasing down your father's gang for  _years_ , Éponine, and we have no new information on the Tappapieds ever since we took you into protective custody," Javert informed Éponine sharply. "The police force will run out of patience and funding for you and will turn you loose on your own."

"When?" Éponine asked, and for the first time since he'd met her, she sounded genuinely fearful. Javert gulped. Earlier, at his station, he'd asked his Commissaire how long he could be expected to keep Éponine in custody. He sighed and told her,

"Three weeks on the outside."

"Three  _weeks?_ " Éponine shut her eyes and then covered them with her hands. When she spoke, her voice was low and mournful. "They'll get me. They'll… they'll find me and they'll… they'll hurt me."

"I know." Javert licked his bottom lip and said, "You must stay here as my maid."

Éponine peered through her fingers and smiled crookedly at Javert. "Stay?"

"As my maid," he said, more to himself than to her. She grinned broadly and leaned to kiss him again. This time, he held her face as she kissed him, and his tongue snaked between her lips. She tasted sweet. She tasted and smelled like rose. She'd bathed, he thought. She was sweet. Clean. New and fresh… she needed someone to start over with.

"Éponine." He groaned when her mouth moved to his neck, for that felt so good that he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. He held onto her arms as she lathed her tongue up and down the skin on the side of his neck, and he suddenly found himself very hard between his legs. It was not normal, he thought, for a man his age to go this hard this quickly. How badly he craved her! How ferociously he wanted her! He was astounded by the power of his own desire just now, by the way his body so seriously longed for hers. She was beautiful, he thought, and so young. So amiable in conversation. So strong of character.

"I do not want you as a maid," he growled as she kissed his neck harder than ever. She pulled back, her lips swollen and pearlescent from the kissing, and her face looked stricken. She was heartbroken, it seemed, until Javert caught her jaw in his hand and pressed his mouth against hers and informed her crisply,

"I want you as a wife, Éponine."


	7. Chapter 7

"Your… your  _wife_?" Éponine stared at Javert, who seemed supremely confident as always in what he'd said. He stared right at her and nodded as he said firmly,

"I could give you a new life, Éponine. I could give you… food, and shelter, and… and in return, all I would ask of you would be -"

"My body," Éponine said, gnawing her lip, but Javert's cheeks pinked a little, and he amended,

"I was going to say  _companionship._ "

"Oh." Éponine was so shocked that she had no idea what to say or do. She shook her head a little and asked, "Why do you want to marry me? I'm just a burden, aren't I? This is just you using me as your little pet project… the girl who started over. That's it, isn't it? You just want to see the transformation of the girl from the streets to -"

"It's actually because I find myself rather fond of you," Javert interrupted, "and we are both of us, it would seem, in need of… another. I have found your companionship to be quite agreeable, as it happens. I have no desire to return to my previous life, solitary as an oyster, in three weeks' time once the Commissaire de Police signs a document cutting off funding for your supervised protective custody."

"Then why not just hire me as your maid?" Éponine asked skeptically, eyeing Javert's wrinkled face and his greying hair. He was old, she thought again. She didn't mind, she thought once more. His face went red again, and he licked very carefully at his bottom lip as he said,

"I should think it is very plain why I do not merely keep you on as a maid. You were just kissing my neck. I am not a religious man, Éponine, and I hold little regard for the idea of sin or corporal iniquity. However… there are practical matters. If I put a bastard in your, or…"

He seethed a breath through his teeth and shut his eyes, and he admitted quietly,

"I want you, Éponine. I desire you."

"You… you do?" Éponine's eyes burned ferociously then. When he opened his eyes again, Javert seemed confused by her sudden burst of emotion, but Éponine confessed, "I never, ever thought I'd hear a man say those words to me. Ever."

"Well, believe me; it is very true," Javert said a bit uncomfortably, and Éponine edged nearer to him. She nodded and whispered,

"I would very much like green ribbons for my hair. Inspector Javert… from Toulon."

He smirked a little and said bitterly, "I need… erm… this is difficult. The law requires your father's permission. I'll have to get an act of consent and have him sign it with a notary. That means…"

"That means you have to go to Saint-Michel and inform my father that you're marrying me," Éponine said gravely, "and then you'll have to work out some sort of deal with him, because that's the sort of man he is, else he won't go to the notary with you."

Javert nodded seriously and said, "But I will do it, Éponine, so that you might start anew."

Éponine suddenly thought of Marius. Would Marius ever marry a girl like her? No, she thought. Not in a hundred thousand years. Someday, Marius Pontmercy was going to find himself some pretty little flit of a girl, and she would have lacy bonnets and lacy gloves. She would have a doll's face. And that woman would make Marius Pontmercy very happy indeed. Éponine's stomach churned a little as she thought of all the nights she'd lain awake in Gorbeau House pining over Marius, thinking of him, dreaming of him. What a colossal waste of time all that had been, Éponine thought.

"Éponine?"

She snapped to rights and looked at Javert, who was sitting upright looking exhausted, and he told her,

"I'll go see him this evening; I'm off work. But I do need to sleep a bit."

"Oh. Right. You've just come home from work." Éponine nodded, remembering how she'd fretted over his late arrival. She'd really worried over him. She was going to marry him.

She was going to marry this man.

"Please, may I kiss you again?" she asked, and he did not smile as he nodded. He slid his fingers up against her jaws, and he pulled her face against his as they delved into another deep kiss.

* * *

"Monsieur… Jondrette?" Javert approached the pipe-smoking man who was loitering up against a brick wall, and he jumped up in alarm at the sight of the policeman. His eyes went wide, and he declared,

"I haven't done nothing wrong, Inspector."

Javert held his hands up in a conciliatory move and asked quietly, "May we speak? It concerns your daughter."

"'Ponine? She all right?" Jondrette gnawed his pipe, and Javert sighed a bit as he asked again,

"May we speak in private? Allow me to buy you some lunch, Monsieur."

Now Jondrette seemed utterly confused, but at the offer of free food, he hurried after Javert into a nearby tavern and sat willingly at a table, ripping his filthy hat from his head. He grinned and ordered stew, bread, and mulled wine. Javert waited for the man to scarf down some of the food, and then he finally lowered his voice and said,

"I assume that Éponine's birth certificate is filed under the name Thénardier?"

Jondrette glanced up from his food and then set his bread down, and he said cautiously, "No. We never filed no birth certificate. Thought that wasn't necessary."

Javert shut his eyes and squeezed at the bridge of his nose. He could work around the fact that Éponine had no birth certificate, but it would mean more paperwork. He finally opened his eyes and said to the criminal before him,

"Éponine will be raped if she is released from protective custody. Luckily, she has the opportunity to begin life fresh - to start over as a woman of modest but livable means. A woman with food in her belly and clean clothes, access to hot baths, and a husband who cares for her."

"Sounds like paradise." Jondrette swiped stew away from his mouth with his sleeve, looking bored. "Who's this man? That Marius boy next door?"

"No." Javert's chest stirred with irritation. He sighed and pursed his lips before he said, "It is me. I am the one who would marry Éponine and give her a new life."

Jondrette choked out a laugh and swigged his mulled wine. "'Ponine, the wife of a policeman? Don't think she'd like that very much."

"She is much enthused," Javert insisted. He opened his leather bag and pulled out the folded act of consent. "If you will accompany me to a notary public to have this signed and notarised, then she will have your legal permission to wed."

Jondrette scowled at the paper as he slowly read it. He passed it back, and a defensive look came over his dark eyes.

"What do you want in return?" Javert asked knowingly, and Jondrette sniffed, swiping at his lips again.

"Friend of mine's in jail," he said. "He'll be in there for another three months."

"I am a police inspector; I do not have the ability, even if I felt it were moral, for the early release of a prisoner," Javert clipped. "Try again."

"Fine." Jondrette pinched his lips and leaned forward, stinking of rot. "I'll give you specific names and locations of the Tappapieds who threatened 'Ponine. I have it on good knowledge of when and where they're going to be. You promise me that 'Ponine won't be turned loose and that you'll catch 'em, and I'll give you all that I've got. Working together, you and I. Never thought that would happen, eh?"

"Indeed." Javert folded the document back up and tucked it away. "I vow to you to, Monsieur, that Éponine is going to be kept safe and given a good, new life. Now. You said you had some names and places."

* * *

"I couldn't possibly take your money for a fancy dress," Éponine insisted, shaking her head. Javert scoffed at her and declared,

"I will not have you get married in a casual calico day dress. You must have a gown, even for a civil wedding. I am not a wealthy man, Éponine, but neither am I a pauper. I work for my salary, and I am paid fairly."

"But I shall feel so terribly guilty wearing lace and velvet," Éponine complained.

"Éponine." Javert stared at her across the dining room table as they finished their breakfast porridge, and she sighed as she hurried to clear their dishes. She spent the next ten minutes in the kitchen scrubbing up bowls and spoons, and then she rushed to Javert's boots by the door with a rag. They were already mostly clean, but she felt like she needed to do more to earn her keep, so she hurriedly rubbed at them with the rag to get any hints of dirt off.

"Éponine," she heard from above her, and she looked up to see Javert looming over her. Suddenly she wanted him, craved him, and she stared up at him with a boot in her hand. He shook his head down at her and insisted, "I can clean my own boots. I've done so for decades."

"If I'm going to wear lace and velvet, then I'll clean your boots, Inspector," Éponine said, leaving no room for equivocation. He curled up half his mouth and nodded, and he told her,

"I'm off work tomorrow. We could go to the dressmaker's. All the paperwork should be finished within a few weeks' time, and so should a gown. Does that suit you?"

"Yes." Éponine rubbed some more at Javert's boot, staring at the worn black leather as she asked him, "Have you told your Commissaire that you're going to marry me?"  
"I… am going to tell him today," said Javert matter-of-factly. "First thing, when I get to the station."

"Oh." Éponine blinked a few times. She was starting to feel overcome with want, with need, and kneeling before him was only making it worse for some reason. She wasn't certain why. It was almost as though…

Suddenly she had a vivid memory of a whore in an alley, a whore on her knees with a man leaning back against a wall. His cock had been in the whore's mouth, Éponine remembered. She had barely seen anything, but she could tell that much. Was that what Éponine was craving?

"Are you all right?" Javert asked softly, and when Éponine looked up at him, she gulped hard and asked,

"If I were to put your manhood in my mouth, would that put a bastard in me?"

"Éponine!" His eyes went round as the full moon, and his face flushed red all the way down his neck into his uniform jacket.

"I'm sorry." She whispered that bit, setting down his boot. But her fingers edged up beneath his uniform, toward his trousers, and Javert gasped. He groaned just a little, seeming very frustrated, and he declared,

"Believe me; I would like  _nothing_  more than  _that_  right now, Éponine, but if I do not leave in the next two minutes, I am going to be late for work."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Éponine pulled her hands away and handed Javert his boots. As he slid his feet into them, he stared at her like she was some sort of odd specimen, and he suggested breathlessly,

"Later? Perhaps? Hmm?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yes. Most definitely later, Inspector. Now. Go tell your Commissaire your news."

"Stand up and kiss me goodbye, will you?" He helped her up, and he held her face in his hands as he touched his lips to hers. He touched his forehead against hers and huffed a breath as he whispered, "Of all the things to taunt me with just before work, Éponine…"

"I'm sorry," she giggled, and he gave her another fleeting kiss before hurrying out the door, leaving Éponine hungry and tingling in the foyer.

**Author's Note: Just wanted to say a huge thank-you for the feedback on this story. I know this is a super niche ship, so I'm grateful for the readership and the reviews. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

"Ah, Javert!" said the Commissaire. "Do come in."

"Monsieur le Commissaire." Javert bowed and tucked his hat beneath his arm as he walked into the Commissaire's office. He waited until the mustachioed man gestured for him to sit, and then he sank into the chair opposite his supervisor. The Commissaire asked,

"Is this about that home invasion in Saint-Germain? Everything was handled perfectly. Very well done."

"Ah. Erm… no, Monsieur. This is not about the break in or the foot chase. I… there is a matter of relatively personal import that I wished to discuss with you, if I… erm…"

"Is something the matter, Javert?" The Commissaire narrowed his eyes, and Javert sighed very heavily as he licked his lip carefully. He finally said,

"The young woman I have been hosting in protective custody? Éponine. I, erm… I wish to notify you of my intention to wed her."

The Commissaire smiled demurely and shook his head a little. "I can't say as I'm surprised, Javert," he said, and Javert was taken aback a little. His lips parted as if something wanted to speak itself forth from him, but the Commissaire continued, "A fifty-two-year-old bachelor hosts a seventeen-year-old street urchin who undoubtedly looks very pretty when she's cleaned up, who cleans his house for him, shines his boots? Of course he's going to marry her instead of turning her loose from protective custody."

Javert's cheeks went hot, and he said rather defensively, "I assure you, Monsieur, that it is far more genuine than all that."

The Commissaire raised his greying brows and shrugged. "Well. Good for you, Javert. Will you be needing leave?"

"No, Monsieur; we will marry with the clerk in the council office on a day when I am not working. I have already begun to file the proper papers."

"Well," the Commissaire said again, "Congratulations, Javert. May you be very happy with the girl. Now… off to work, if you please. I need a foot patrol in Saint-Michel."

* * *

"What was his name?" Éponine asked later that evening at the dinner table, for Javert had just told her a story about a convict who had escaped from prison in Toulon, then had lived a life up in the North masquerading as the mayor of a town.

"Jean Valjean," Javert repeated, and his face twisted as if the name was poison in his mouth. He set his knife and fork down and said seriously, "He has been the bane of my existence ever since I was in Toulon. After he fled the courthouse, he went to get the daughter of the dying woman. The little girl… he took her here, to Paris. They're here, somewhere, and someday, I'll find them."

"I grew up with a little girl who got taken by a man that came one day," Éponine mused, and Javert glared at her for a long moment. She shrugged and asked uncomfortably,

"What? It's true. She lived with us and her mother sent money. But then the money stopped coming… I remember Maman and Papa being properly cross about that. One day a man came and took her away and -"

"What was she called?" asked Javert in a low voice, and Éponine tried to remember. It was all so long ago, so far in the past. She barely remembered the inn anymore. She barely remembered that life before Paris. She could still see the blonde-haired girl plain as day in her mind. What had her name been? Cosette? Yes.

"Cosette," she said simply, and Javert's face went blank. He blinked a few times, and his throat bobbed. His skin went pale, and Éponine asked him, "Are you all right?"

"You… lived in an inn with a little girl called Cosette, and a man came to fetch her?" Javert asked softly, and Éponine nodded.

"You think the man was Jean Valjean?" she gasped, and Javert shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"The Universe, it seems, conspires constantly to cross his path and mine and yet never allow me the ability to capture the man," Javert complained. "What are the odds of this? And yet, I wager you know nothing more of his current location than I do."

"No; I wouldn't know where he is now. I'm sorry." Éponine embraced herself and watched as Javert pushed away his plate of beef, carrot, and potato. He rose and announced,

"I am not hungry. I am going to wash up and am going to bed. Goodnight."

"Javert." Éponine so rarely said his name, for he only had the one, and it felt rather odd to use it, but she flew to her feet now and grasped at his wrist. She pressed her palm to his chest and whispered, "You'll find him."

"Goodnight, Éponine," he said quite sorrowfully, leaving her to clean up the dishes.

* * *

"Green." Javert smiled a little as the ladies in the dressmaker's paraded Éponine out to showcase the gown they were working on for her. They still had to sew on white lace trim around the collar and sleeves and waist, and the buttons down the back weren't finished. But Éponine looked like a dream in her evergreen velvet dress. Her raven hair tumbled around her shoulders in waves, which was not at all the fashion, but Javert did not much care for fashion. He cared that Éponine was happy, and she smiled broadly at him in her new green gown. She asked him seriously,

"Does it please you?"

"That's not what matters," he insisted, but when her face shifted uneasily, he insisted, "You look lovely."

"Still a week's worth of work on it," the head seamstress announced, and they showed her back to the dressing area to get her out of the gown. After the dressmaker's, Javert took Éponine to dinner in a tavern, his favorite place where they sang songs from the South of France.

"These are the songs I heard sailors and prisoners singing as a child," he informed her as they ate their stew, and Éponine sipped her mug of wine before asking carefully,

"Were things very different before the Revolution?"

"Things were different then, and then there was the Terror, and then Napoleon, and then another King," Javert shrugged. "This country has never really known peace in my lifetime. I have clung to the law like a drowning man clinging to flotsam, perhaps, but it is all we have. All there is besides is crime and chaos."

"Crime and chaos." Éponine nodded as she looked around the tavern, and she was quiet for a very long moment before she informed Javert, "I will not be a criminal ever again. I will not allow my father to wield that influence over my life ever again. Nor men like Dubois. Men like the Tappapieds. I will be the Inspector's wife. I will clear your plates and warm your bed. In more ways than one. And I will wear green ribbons in my clean hair."

Javert felt irrationally emotional at that, and he blinked as he looked away from her. He just nodded, for he felt like if he said anything, it would sound foolish or maudlin.

It rained that night, and as Javert readied himself for bed, he listened to the constant stream of rain and shut his eyes for a moment, thinking of how soothing the sound was. But then there was a crack, a smash - thunder. A rare severe storm developed over the next half hour, and eventually Éponine appeared in Javert's doorway as he was washing up his face and arms. She stood there looking nervous and confessed,

"Thunder made the whole of Gorbeau House shake. I confess I'm a little frightened of storms. Or, at least, they make my heart race a bit. I've always felt like they'd make the building come down. Sometimes I'd go outside in a storm because it felt safer."

"I used to do the same thing," Javert laughed, and Éponine eyed him curiously. He set down his washcloth and informed her, "When I was a boy, after I left the prison where I was born, I lived in a rickety building, and the storms made it tremble. I'd go wait in an alley and get soaked. It seemed like a better idea, somehow."

"How funny," Éponine pondered, and Javert thought with a sigh that they really were more alike than they were different. He held a hand out to her and whispered,

"Come here."

She did, her nightgown billowing round her as she entered his room. A violent white flash of lightning filled the space, and then an almost immediate crack of thunder smashed through the air. Éponine squealed and let herself get wrapped up in Javert's arms, and he smirked down at her as he promised,

"I'll protect you."

"Will you?" she put her hands to his chest and told him, "Your heart's going fast, too. I can feel it."

"That's not from the thunder," Javert informed her, and Éponine's eyes darkened. She visibly swallowed, and she seemed hungry as she asked again,

"What about me taking your member in my mouth like I meant to do? Would it put a child on me?"

"No, it wouldn't," Javert said, licking his lip at the very thought of such a thing. "But why would you want to… Éponine, what are you… oh. Oh.  _Oh._ "

She had sunk to her knees and was before him, and she pushed up his nightshirt, encouraging him to hold the hem. He wore no undergarments with it, so she had free access to his cock, and she took full advantage. The moment she was at eye level with it, Javert began to go hard, and that process accelerated when he realized she was watching him harden. He gulped as her little hand reached out and wrapped around the base of his shaft, and when she stared up at him, he informed her,

"I want you. Badly. But, please… no teeth."

"Right. No teeth." She seemed to steel herself then, and she pushed him into her mouth without any further ado. Thunder banged so hard outside that the window rattled, and there were more flashes of lightning. Somehow it seemed appropriate that it should storm just now. Javert watched as Éponine slipped him between her lips, as she suckled on him. She gagged a little, but then she quickly recovered and found a rhythm, licking inside of her mouth in swirls and long strokes as she listened to Javert's moans to get cues on what he liked best. She wound up trailing her hand behind her mouth, sucking and stroking her tongue, squeezing her lips, and eventually Javert realized he was going to come any moment. He yanked her face off of him and said helplessly,

"Oh, it isn't for drinking, I don't think."

"What?" Éponine asked in confusion, but Javert couldn't answer. He gripped his cock and tipped his head back, somehow managing to catch a glimpse of what was happening as his come leaped in creamy ropes from his cock onto Éponine's neck and collarbone. She seemed amazed and shocked by what was happening, and she reached up to drag her fingers through the little puddles. Javert groaned loudly, feeling the hot flush of satisfaction boil quickly through his veins, and he whispered,

"Beautiful creature."

Eventually he recovered, and he got the washcloth he'd been using on his face and arms earlier. He wordlessly cleaned Éponine up, and she stayed silent and just stared up at him as he wiped his seed from her skin. She was breathing heavily, and finally she whispered,

"I look forward to what it will mean to be your wife."

"I could… help you," Javert offered awkwardly, assisting Éponine to her feet. She shook her head, looking dizzy, and insisted,

"I think I… erm… I don't need anything."

She'd been squirming where she'd been kneeling, he'd noticed, and one of her hands had dipped between her legs whilst she'd been pleasuring him. Had she found her own satisfaction with him in her mouth? He shut his eyes, for the thought of that was almost too much to bear. He nodded and asked her carefully,

"Would you like to stay in here during the storm, Éponine?"  
"Yes, please, Inspector," she smiled, and then she grabbed at his forearms, for another wild smash of thunder followed a bright flash of lightning. The rain was falling harder than ever as they climbed into Javert's bed. He curled up behind her and wrapped an arm round her, and he found himself whispering,

"Do you know something, Éponine?"

"No," she whispered back over the sound of he rain. "What, Inspector?"

"I think you will make a very fine wife indeed," he told her, and she just squeezed at his hand. She didn't stir the next time thunder clapped, and soon enough she was asleep in his arms.


End file.
